


The Way I Loved You (I never knew I could feel that much)

by ProfessionalPenThief



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/F, Written post 3x06, cbc watch me die on this hill, not canon divergence yet but will probably end up to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 06:37:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessionalPenThief/pseuds/ProfessionalPenThief
Summary: Winifred Rose attends the Island County fair hand in hand with Gilbert Blythe. But by the time she leaves, her heart is set on someone else.





	The Way I Loved You (I never knew I could feel that much)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally wrote this on Tumblr as a one-shot but became a two-parter. May potentially continue as the show goes along, depending on where the show goes.

Winifred Rose was 7 months old when she started talking. Her first word was ‘jum’, a measly attempt at ‘jump’. It was also an order, cheekily given to her father who happily obliged. He jumped. She repeated the word, over and over, clapping two round palms in delight. Winifred was 7 months old when she fell in love with talking. 

When polite yawns and glazed over eyes were directed her way, she found her humor and charm. And when a saucy remark accompanied by a sharp twinkle in her eye didn’t do the trick, she started talking to herself. Loudly, cheerily and with an almost reckless abandon. 

It was a clear summer day. The Island County fair smelled like fresh hay, spun sugar and peonies. In short, Winifred decided as she walked with her mother, her father and Gilbert Blythe a few steps ahead, that it smelled like possibilities. 

The day was going well. Her parents liked Gilbert well enough; she knew they would. They teased and they laughed and as much fun as she was having, it was nothing compared to what would happen later.

After the cake competition, she found herself all alone. Gilbert had run after his friend. She assumed he intended to comfort her, and why wouldn’t he? Gilbert was a good man. She reminded herself of it. Gilbert was a good… well, he was a boy really. Maybe that’s why she had to keep reminding herself of it. 

She moved through the fair, exploring while her parents watched the rest of the cakes. A loud uproar caught her attention. Curious as ever, she made her way over to the shooting competition.

The person who had won was a short but slender man with his hair done up like a woman’s. He wore a set of beige pants that looked softer than most men’s. As Winifred observed him, he turned his head and - OH. 

The man wasn’t a man at all. 

The most beautiful woman was looking straight at her. She grinned widely, glee evident on her face as they locked eyes. 

“Well, what toy do you want?”

She gulped, trying to swallow the sudden dryness in her throat. Winifred Rose had been speaking every waking hour since she was 7 months old. And now, for the first time in her life, she found herself rendered speechless. 

The woman’s smile became smaller, mixed in with a tinge of concern, or confusion. Her brow furrowed slightly and it was like the whole world had zoomed in around her. Winifred became aware of two things at once. One, this woman was about to turn away from her and two, she couldn’t let that happen. 

Her brain was still reeling from what the latter meant but the former jerked her back to reality. 

“The… The duck,” she answered. 

The woman turned to the stall owner who passed over the duck in exchange for the rifle. Winifred found herself moving closer, her words rushing back into her. 

“You shouldn’t have… I mean, it was your prize.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been at it for quite a bit. I’ve won all that I needed for myself.”

Winifred smiled, accepting the small wooden sculpture of the duck. 

“Okay. If you’re sure.” She extended her hand. “I’m Winifred. Or Miss Rose, whichever you prefer.”

The woman met her handshake with a firm but delicate grip. “Miss Stacy. Or Muriel, whichever you prefer.” 

She kept turning the toy over and over in her hand as they slowly walked away from the game stand. Someone behind them muttered, “Finally!” 

“Been hogging the rifles, have you?” A soft smile accompanied this question and even as Winifred wondered if she was maybe too bold, too accusatory, she was glad for the familiarity of it. 

Luckily, Muriel didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she leaned in conspicuously and said, “Nothing more exciting than beating a bunch of men at their own game.”

“Are you talking about shooting or fashion?”

Muriel raised her eyebrows in question and Winifred flushed. 

“I just mean… the pants suit you,” she answered. 

“Thank you. They’re my husband’s.” 

Winifred couldn’t name the feeling, the sensation of her gut dropping out from underneath her. The closest she had come to feeling like that before was when her corset was too tight. 

“Your… your husband?” She forced the words out. “He approves of your appearance then?”

“I like to think he would but I wouldn’t know for sure.” 

Winifred raised a poised eyebrow in question. 

“He passed away a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” said Winifred, reaching out and grasping Muriel’s hand. And she was, even though the knot in her chest loosened, she was still sorry. Muriel’s eyes were green and bright and earnest, and the thought that they might have ever contained sadness triggered her protective instinct. 

Muriel smiled, squeezing her hand. Winifred looked down at their intertwined hands and squeezed back. She didn’t let go, but eventually, Muriel did.

Winifred tried not to think too much of it as they continued walking. She nudged Muriel in the side when she spotted an old couple some distance away. The couple appeared to be deep in conversation.

“Mrs. Bryant, how could you set the house on fire?” said Winifred, pressing her chin to her throat to produce a deep voice.

“Well Mr. Bryant, it was quite simple you see. I did forget to put out the fire after cooking dinner for you and our children,” she continued, her voice a pitch higher than usual.

“I see Mrs. Bryant; then the fire spread from there, did it?”

“Oh no, Mr. Bryant. The fire died out and so then I had to use your juice bottles.”

As she single-handedly continued this two-sided conversation, Winifred glanced at Muriel. Muriel seemed to be getting the hang of the bit, chuckling quietly. The somber mood evaporated and she joined in. 

“Mrs. Bryant! My house AND my drinks. How could you?” said Muriel.

Winifred laughed delightedly and Muriel joined it. 

“You’re not from around these parts, are you Winnie?”

“Charlottetown.”

“A young woman traveling all alone; quite the scandal aren’t you?”

“I hoped to win over every gossip, but alas! Your pants are quite the competition.”

“Maybe we should stop competing, and work together.”

“Be the worst scandal in all of Avonlea.”

“And Charlottetown.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Winnie, a bright grin on her face. 


End file.
